


More Than a Woman to Me

by The_Secretary (Kizzywiggle)



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Afternoon delight, Age Difference, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Masturbation, Naked Female Clothed Male, Not Canon Compliant, Office Sex, Older Woman/Younger Man, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-27 16:34:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7625941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzywiggle/pseuds/The_Secretary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>M is used to being the most powerful woman in the country to the extent that she forgets sometimes the woman who wields the power.</p><p>James doesn't. Ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than a Woman to Me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm used to writing M/M fics or slightly sweeter M/F. I wanted to try and write something more gritty, dirtier. I've loved some of the James/M fics I've read here - the fact that they're both so married to their job, yet understand and respond to each other - and this is my contribution.

She summons him via the intercom and is waiting by the door when it slams open and he strides through in a fine temper, toeing it shut behind him.

He shoves her hard against the wall, sliding his hands into her hair to hold her still for his kiss. His mouth is warm, faintly wet and sure as he takes her mouth, parting her lips with his tongue as they strain into each other. Their breath mingles and she moans as he pushes his hips against hers, his erection rubbing against her. “I want you,” she breathes.

He pulls away from the kiss, moving his hands down to her hips, and nuzzles under her ear before latching onto her neck and sucking hard. She cries out, putting her hands on his shoulders and pushing - “Bastard!” 

His smile is wicked. “Oops?”

“I'll give you 'oops’ - that'll leave a mark!” 

He thrust his hips again, harder, and she cries out, grinding down on him, seeking friction which he capriciously denies her. He pushes her jacket off and shoves her top up, teasing the ticklish skin of her tummy and sides before exposing her breasts, flushed and heaving. He smiles, lascivious and wicked. One quick movement and her top is off, his face buried between her generous breasts, mouth suckling and kissing the soft flesh. She makes an inarticulate sound, grabbing at his hair.

With a last kiss, he pushes back and moves clear across the room, seating himself on a chair - _her_ chair! - and looking hotly at her. “Strip,” he says. At her questioning glance he clarifies: “I want to see you. Show me your beautiful body.”

She laughs, embarrassed. Suddenly uncertain. She knows her body isn't beautiful, not conventionally. She's too short, too wide, too busty, too bloody _old_ , but seeing the desire written on his face she feels she could be beautiful just for now… she reaches behind herself to unclip her bra, sliding the straps down, peeling the cups away. Her breasts are large, heavy, and they drop slightly without the support of the bra, that weight pulling blood into her hardening nipples, making them furl into begging points. She drops the bra on the floor and goes for the button of her slacks, but he stops her. “Wait!”

Her eyes are full of questions, but she stops, waits. “Cup your tits,” he says, and she obeys, hands cradling soft feminine flesh. “Offer them to me,” he demands. She crosses to where he sits, places one hand on the arm of the chair and leans forward, breasts swinging. She cups one tit for him, bringing it to his mouth; he licks his lips and engulfs her nipple, licking and sucking open-mouthed, hungry for her. She moans and sways into him, pleading, wanting more. He brings up his free hand to grab her other tit and squeezes with delicious roughness. The intensity of his mouth and his hand cause her to cry out, wetness spilling from her body to soak into her underwear. 

Impatient, he bats her hand out of the way, squeezing her breasts together, pushing her nipples as close together as he can before flicking his tongue rapidly between the tortured points. She feels electric, hot, desperate, and pushes her tits into him, asking for more. Neither his hands nor his mouth are gentle; he's rough, assured, keeping her balanced on the razor's edge of too much, and she goes wanton as he changes tack, suckling languorously on one breast, rolling and pinching the other nipple. “Please!” she begs.

He stops. Pushes her back a step. “Now the rest,” he says, gesturing to her slacks and low heels. He sounds unaffected, but his colour is high, he's breathing fast, and his erection is clearly visible through his Savile Row tailoring..

She steps back, turns round. She toes her shoes off, kicks them aside, then unfastens her slacks and pushes them and her soaked underwear down on one movement, bending at the waist, legs straight. His purely feral noise as he's presented with her rear view is deeply satisfying, and she imagines what he sees; her large, sweetly curved buttocks and the valley between. Wetness slicking her inner thighs, spilling out of her body. The pucker of her anus and the deep cleft of her cunt just visible, teasing him. She pushes her backside out, hollowing her back to tease him with a better view before she straightens, steps out of the slacks and turns back to him. 

While her back was turned, he'd unzipped his trousers, pulling out his cock. It is so hard it looks almost angry, coloured a deep rosy shade, the fat tip already leaking. She licks her lips and reaches out a hand. “No,” he says. “Come here.” She takes the single step to him, but he pulls her so her legs are either side of his spread knees and he slides a hand up to cup between her legs, pushing against her hidden clitoris with the heels of his hand. “I'm going to fuck you soon,” he informs her. “I'm going to fuck you so damn _hard_.” 

Normally, she'd giggle at talk like this, but right now it's working for her hand she pushes into his palm. “Yes…” Her voice is breathy, needy. He moves his hand like he’s got all the time in the world and slides two fingers into her wetness. She's so aroused her wetness is clearly audible, and he pumps, fucking her slowly with his hand, her body sucking at him. She cries out and he curls his fingers while he works. It takes a minute, maybe two for him to expertly bring her to a near-peak, then backs off. He repeats this trick several times until she is twisting and bearing down on his fingers, chasing the orgasm she so desperately want, needs, then he says hotly, “Look, _look_ at me,”

He removes his hand from her and she obeys, looking down. He jerks his head down and she follows his gaze to see his hand, still wet from her body, clamped tightly around his straining cock, slicking his hard flesh with her arousal. He twists slowly and strokes down, pulling the skin back to show her the vulnerable, weeping slit before stroking back up and clenching his fist over the head. She plants her hands on his thighs and bends from the waist; the next time he pulls back she quickly ducks down to take just the tip of his cock into her mouth, flickering her tongue across the opening and taking in the evidence of his readiness, sucking lightly, scraping her teeth oh-so-lightly across the sensitive underside. He grabs the back of her head and she stills. “No,” he says breathlessly, “ _No_.” She looks up into his eyes and he grimaces. “Too much,” he explains. He gives one more long, slow pump and his whole body shivers; he is the picture of decadence, sat there fully clothed in a three piece suit with just his erection out, held twitching in his hand and she wants to fuck him. Badly.

Observation is his trade - among other things - and he can see how turned on she is, the gooseflesh prickling her body, the flush of arousal painting her skin, her eyes large, dark with lust and glassy. He smiles. So many people have seen that smile in their last moment on earth; it’s the smile of a predator, but this time he’s not thinking of death, but life. The most primal expression of life. He surges out of the chair and turns her to face her desk, pressing up against her back and using the pressure of his body to bend her slowly over. She moans, pushing back against the delicious weight of him, rubbing against the erection tucked between her buttocks, and he teases her with a long slide. He bends both of them until she’s flat to the desk, arms spread wide, his muscular body caging her. The slight tickle of his fine wool suit against the back of the thighs is a delicate, agonising tease for her senses, reminding her that he’s fully clothed while she is fully naked and vulnerable. “And now,” he growls, and her body spills even more just hearing how his voice is rough with the need for her, “I’m going to fuck you. Bent over your desk. Wide, wide open for me.” He kicks her feet apart and curls his hips until his hardness is tucked against her hungry wet cunt. “You want this?”

She’s beyond words, so just nods and whimpers and tries desperately to move just that fraction which will allow him inside her, but he laughs and subdues her easily. “Naughty,” he says. He uses a hand in her hair to lift her head up. “Look at the door,” he says. “I didn’t lock it.” She cries as his meaning hits her and he continues, “Anyone could walk in, just open that door and see you spread out like a fucking banquet, spread out for my mouth and my hands and my cock.”

He thrusts in sharply, piercing her, her abundant wetness coating him and easing his passage inside, and she chokes back a scream. He slides in until he’s seated completely before standing up. “Stay,” he tells her. She stays.

She stays, breasts mashed against the antique wood of the desk top, arms spread wide, hands scrabbling for purchase, her head up, wide eyes scanning the doorway, as her top agent stands with apparent calmness behind her, his thick, delicious cock impaling her, filling her completely. She feels her body clenching and rippling around him; sweat sliding down her spine, under her breasts; the air sawing in and out of her lungs. The idea that at any moment someone could walk in and _see_ her - the idea swirls in her brain and tightens her arousal into a sharp, hot thing. She imagines their faces - would they be repulsed at the sight of their boss, so much older than he, no longer young and firm and beautiful, imapled wetly of his fat cock? Or would they, too be aroused at this glorious near-fantasy?

He laughs as he feels her body tensing and releasing around his cock. “Christ, you’re hot,” he says. “And so very dirty. I can feel your mind working, love.” He pulls out with agonising, torturous slowness, deliberately dragging against her swollen channel until he’s poised just at the entrance once more. He grabs her hips and just _shoves_. Hard. With a scream she comes; a fast, sharp orgasm which leaves her straining and shuddering, pushing onto tiptoe to try and get the tiny bit of purchase she requires for it to be _amazing_...

Suddenly there’s voices in the outer office and she clenches, flushing hot with terrified, embarrassed arousal. “They’re coming,” he says and now, _now_ he begins to _really_ fuck her. He curls a hand under one thigh and lifts it up so her knee rests on the desktop and, oh my God, the angle is _divine_. His cock fills her sublimely as he saws in and out of her body with metronomic deliberation. He keeps talking, spilling filth into her ears in time to his deep thrusts: “They’re coming in...they’ll see you...they’ll know, they’ll know...they’ll see me...balls deep in you...fucking your hot...wet...grabby… _perfect_...CUNT!” 

He slams into her with a shout and comes, erupting deep inside her. He takes his hand from her hip and tucks it under her, pressing into her clit with just the right pressure and she explodes, too, coming so hard her vision whites out and she screams soundlessly. It’s all hot and wet and tight and full and oh, so very fucking _good_...He pumps, idly, once, twice, then pulls out fully, grabbing a tissue from the box on her desk to mop himself up, throwing it in the wastebin and tucking himself away. 

She’s still spread out and nearly insensible on the desk. She doesn’t care if anyone sees. She’s satisfied, well-fucked and strangely proud of herself. She might hold one of the most powerful offices in the nation, might have the power of life and death at her command, but this is about nothing more than being a woman in charge of her own sexuality. She purrs, stretches luxuriously, and pushes herself upright.

His glance, taking her in from mussed hair to still-curled toes is _everything_. He moves back to the doorway and guards it, eyes lazily following her around the room while she gathers her clothes up and heads to the tiny adjoining loo to sort herself out. 

When she returns she is neat, prim even. Gone is the flushed, rumpled, well-fucked woman and in her place is M: so much her role that no-one sees her gender, just the power she wields well and ruthlessly. She seats herself at the desk and her hands flit across the surface returning it to perfect order. She looks up. “That will be all, Double-Oh Seven. Thank you.”

Her face is impassive. She can’t afford sentiment in her job, but as she looks across at James with his hands thrust into his pockets and a faint scowl on his face she softens minutely. “Thank you, James. I’ll see you later?”

He nods, smiles back. As he leaves the office she wonders how exactly he’s going to gain access to her flat tonight and shivers once with delighted anticipation. Then she reaches out and taps the intercom. “Bill? I need the minutes from the last section head’s meeting in two minutes please, and a tea. Thank you.”

It’s not easy being the most powerful woman in Great Britain, and sometimes the _woman_ part gets if not lost then locked away, but for the rest of the afternoon she’s reminded every time she moves that she most definitely _is_ a woman. A well-fucked one, deliciously sore and deeply loved...with a small, dark lovebite clearly visible above the collar of her jacket.


End file.
